I’ve been neglecting you. Unintentional, but unacceptable all the same.
We’ve both been caught up keeping our heads above the waves. I’m sure it feels like you’re just treading water but know I see just how hard you’re working—how mindful and caring you’re being. Especially with yourself.
That’s a good boy. But I think it’s time for someone else to take care of you. And who might that be?
Come here. I want to hold you.
Focus on the rumble of the bath as I peel off your jacket, your shirt, everything holding you in and back. Let me help you into the water. I’ve filled it with the scent you love most to find in my hair as we’re walking in the afternoons; now I’m all around you, caressing your skin clean and marking you as mine.
I give this to you.
I give you nails scrubbing at the depths of your scalp and fingers gently threading sweet oil into the roots. I give you a proper sea sponge-down which is firm in the way I can only be because I know all of your body, including the sensitive and rough places. I give you a warm towel and a warm peck and a warm hug.
Follow me into the bedroom. I’ll let you untie my sturdy robe—drop it to the floor to reveal the lace set I saw you admiring in the shop window. I pay attention to what excites you, lovely.
Lay down on your stomach. I’ll settle on your thighs in just the perfect place below the meat of your arse to be able to knead that melty lotion I use on my legs—the one that smells like rose blossoms—into the knots that riddle the cords in your back, up your shoulders, down your legs. When you flip over, I’ll massage your chest, too—and you can play with whatever you can reach.
Take my things off. Or just fiddle with the hems. I’m happy to dress up for you, be your prize… or just be, skin to skin.
Several minutes will have to be spent laving a tongue across your nipples in the way that gets you gasping, all whilst grinding slow as syrup down your stomach, rebounding always at the base of your cock. One swipe for every good thing you can tell me about yourself.
I know you will take all this attention with patience and gratitude, but eventually, you’ll start to grab at me, knowing I only take care of you; I never take your ability to take. I only indulge in your small, gasped “please”s for a moment before taking you in my hand, hiss rising from your throat, and sinking down around you.
Everything is warm and wet and you are safe and special and very, very wanted. Can you feel?
I roll my hips.
Can you feel?
You say yes. You can feel as I drag the inside of me up and off you, draw the curtains back down and around you. Feel as I kiss each of the fingertips you reach out to take mine, steering me to the pace that makes you cry out. Feel as I tighten like a vice in every muscle, watching the blood rush your chest and your neck and the tip of your nose.
Feel as I wind my fingers in your hair, not to pull you up, but to pull myself down to you, meet you where you are. Feel as I welcome your tongue into my mouth the same way I’ve welcomed your cock into my cunt. Feel as my free hand pets your chest, your ass, your thigh, your calf, your chin, your neck, your chin,
feel as I come, knowing only this will pull you into peace, into letting sense and strain crumble around you, into offloading every care and worry and stress into me, which I take, gladly.
I take care of my things, love. And you are no thing. You are my person. You are my prize.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/lacd9u/i_take_care_of_my_things_fm_gentle_femdom
This is gorgeous, and sexy, and I wish I was your prize